


the ghosts you draw on my back

by fealle



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Kingsman AU, M/M, Off-screen Relationship(s), Past Relationship(s), a failed attempt on murder mysteries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 17:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3858256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fealle/pseuds/fealle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One doesn't become a Kingsman looking for a normal life on the down low. One also doesn't become Kingsman without attending a few funerals here and there, and the day I was appointed a Kingsman, codename Galahad, I attended the funeral of the former Galahad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the ghosts you draw on my back

**Author's Note:**

> kingsman au. kurotsukki is the major ship, there's some one-sided daichi > tsukki in the fic. there is an attempt to write a murder mystery case, inspired by a short story by poe and borges. this means it sucks, please don't pay attention to that part too much. the rest of the story is told in daichi's POV.
> 
> also, tumblr user refleja made this [playlist](http://mamura.co.vu/post/115095654842/five-minutes-galahad-a-kingsman-au-kurotsukki) when i first posted the first part of this au. it's a good playlist. you should listen to it.

__[if i want you back](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7q9MY-tQbpw)  
_i could get away_  
_before the sunshine leaves your eye_  
_but I need to know_  
_how to find a place_  
_before the days become nights_  
_before the years become lies_

_and there's trouble every day_

_you know that i love again  
please make it start again _

* * *

 

 

_In the right company they call him Galahad. In more private discourse he's just Kuroo Tetsurou. None of that matters, of course, as ten - maybe twenty - gunmen run after him corridor after corridor. He's ran out of bullets long ago, but he still has a few tricks up his sleeve. He hopes._

_He pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose and murmurs, "Merlin, babe, talk to me."_

_There's a scoff at the other end of the line - and Merlin, Tsukishima Kei in quiet corridors and Kei in more intimate spaces - replies with a dry, "I already told you to turn left after three hundred metres, north. If you don't give me results I'll cut your feed."_

_It's an idle threat, of course, but the message is clear:_ Make your way to the exit. Immediately. _Kuroo smiles._

_"Has anyone ever told you that you're a cruel mistress?"_

_"I have no sympathy for masochists, Galahad."_

_"My poor heart." His poor heart indeed. It's enclosed in a suit bespoke to his body but has long been cut and torn and singed from a rather intense escape that seems to take forever. The labyrinthian headquarters are the worst. He has to use the grenades carefully lest the foundations shake; every shot from him has to be precise lest they ricochet in the wrong direction. That's a lot more that can be said for his pursuers. Galahad - Kuroo - opens an umbrella. In the right light, it looks like he's walking in cold weather, except surrounded by the dead and dying in the underground. "You know, I'm thinking of dinner right after this."_

_"On the day of your funeral? You're too ambitious."_

_"You're getting morbid, Merlin. I must be cutting it close."_

_He is. There's about fifteen minutes before the whole base blows up and he dies in it; both of them know this, but neither one has the sense to worry about their own lives when the safety and security of the country is on the line. Kuroo steadies the length of the umbrella against his shoulder as he moves._

_"You are never on time when it comes to dates, Galahad."_

_"Stranger things have happened, babe. Germany won seven to one against Brazil this year."_

_"You're not a walking miracle."_

_That might've been too honest. Galahad smiles._

_"How'd you like fireworks for your birthday, Merlin?"_

_"It's too early for that."_

_"Yeah? then think of it as an early present for me."_

_Merlin counts down the hours. He runs his fingers of the keyboard hundreds, maybe thousands of times, pressing key after key in an attempt to guarantee safety. Time slips by him like sand through his hands and like an ever tightening noose around Galahad's neck and the consequences for missing every step is becoming more and more severe._

_Ten minutes._

_"Will you dance?"_

_It takes a while for him to respond as he fights valiantly on screen - always so brilliant, always so elegant, and it hurts to look at him, but he has to watch, that's always his job, to bear witness - Galahad laughs, exhilirated as he is exhausted. "Save a spot for me in your card."_

_"Don't disappoint me." The 'please' is unspoken, but it's there. And his heart only hurts even more when Galahad, brave, brilliant Galahad, replies to him with his voice full of affection - "never."_

_Right. Left. Right again. A narrow corridor with fifteen men. a corridor with traps. Fingers fly over keys as locks are opened and cameras disabled. The clock is ticking. Merlin - Kei, now - presses his forehead on the screen. He can only do so much._

 

Don't disappoint me.

 

_"Five minutes, Galahad."_

_And four._

_And three._

_And two._

_one._

 

**(0)**

 

One doesn't become a Kingsman looking for a normal life on the down low. One also doesn't become Kingsman without attending a few funerals here and there, and the day I was appointed a Kingsman, codename Galahad, I attended the funeral of the former Galahad. I've never met him. They said he was brilliant, charming, a leader among men, and I'm sure he is, I've no cause to doubt whether he is or not, but the way they spoke of him over the eulogy was a bit stifling in how accomplished he'd been. It's pretty clear I'm walking in some rather big shoes.

 

Still, they were all sympathetic and optimistic I'd do well. I've got a resume that spans a few years' worth of service in the military and the government and a decent personality; I'm not sure if I'm cut out for this life, but I adapt well enough to the circumstances. I leave a flower on the grave; I tell him, quietly, _sorry_ and _I hope I do well._ I'm not expecting miracles, just to be able to do my job and serve the country and maybe end up in some place happy and satisfying after a while.

 

My handler, Saeko, scans the crowd with narrowed eyes and mutters, "Merlin's not here."

 

"Must've been busy."

 

"No. Not for this." Saeko sighs. She opens the front door of the car for me as we go. "Dammit, he's always running away."

 

 

**(i.)**

 

I meet Merlin on the first day of my case they called "the god's hand." It's the case of a hacker who apparently finds god somewhere in the depths of his sadness after a failed marriage and a falling empire, had distributed computer viruses in forums revealing sensitive information. That, the government can easily deal with. What they can't deal with was his sorry excuse of a vision where women and children were personal targets. It had started from 'small' murders in the poorer areas of Miyagi to now more personal targets in specific places, each with its own personal and religious tones. We were assigned this case because no-one in their right mind would waste resources on a case saddled with the supernatural when the government was gripped with a sex scandal as well as another round of calls to war with another country in the east; it's a bone thrown to the Kingsmen in order for the government to keep functioning, unhindered by another abstract mess. We know the target we're looking for, he's been monitored for a long while and his face is embedded into our minds by now. It's only the matter of cracking the code, finding his victims, arresting him. We were briefed by the nature of the attacks by Merlin. He's tall, maybe about one hundred eighty centimetres or so, blond hair, brown eyes, pale skin. 

 

I can't say I really know him, beyond the fact that he was Galahad's partner for a long time, and he was brilliant at what he does. The latter is expected, you don't go far in this job without being brilliant anyway. The former was more interesting. Merlin wasn't there in the funeral when he died. What with how the briefing was three days after the funeral, maybe he _was_ busy with the case. He seemed like the kind of guy who'd overwork himself, and when the briefing was done and Merlin had left to tend to something else, Saeko pulls me aside and whispers, "take care of him."

 

"He seems perfectly capable of doing just that."

 

"He hasn't been the same since Ku - Galahad died," she says awkwardly. "They were close, you know. They said he was the only one who heard how he died."

 

I frowned. "You mean he was watching?"

 

"Watching. Listening. Merlin's headphones are top notch. He has ears everywhere, eyes everywhere. Not the kind of thing you'd want to have when you're watching your partner burn in an explosion and then get shot two or three more times just to be sure."

 

I watched his back as he turns to the far end of the corridor where his office was. When I was working for the Navy I watched a junior officer break down in hysterics when he realized that the soldiers he was assisting in a sinking submarine had no choice but to drown; they had no visuals, only the choking sound of death and the crazed begging for help that will never come. He was inconsolable after. I never saw him in the job again.

 

Merlin walked with a back that was too stiff, with his jaw set in a firm line when he mentions my name - Galahad - in the briefing.

 

"I'll take care of him," I grip her shoulder and say with a grim tone. "That's what a gentleman does."

 

+++

 

The previous Galahad's death wasn't a matter of a conspiracy or anything of the kind. There were talks about that in the branch back in England, but Miyagi's small enough that we mostly know each other and can keep track of its inner workings. No, the other Galahad died because he was intentionally trapped in a cavern after completing his mission. His options, however, were severely limited: had he made it through, he still would've been killed. They have taken his family hostage while he was on a mission, something that they only found out after he died. The only guarantee for their safety was his imminent death. It wasn't clear whether Galahad knew that while he was trying to escape, the rumour is that no matter how many times Merlin had warned him he was close - _five minutes, Galahad_ \- he always seemed to be going in a speed that was .... unlike him. 

 

The matter of his death was kept from his parents. There was almost nothing to be retrieved from his body if it weren't for his dental records. The story is that he had a car crash with a tanker. It's a shit story, but the person who delivered it was Kenma (Lancelot). 

 

The other story: Merlin finished the job. Well - that's not quite accurate. The job was already finished by Galahad. But Merlin tidied up everything. He cleaned up with a precision that was terrifying in its focus, in its scope. I can't really say anything about those involved in that job, goons and leaders alike, but none of them can be found anymore. And Merlin was still standing.

 

+++

 

Tsukishima was a bit more different. He never went without earphones around his neck, he wore v-necked shirts or v-necked sweaters paired with the same black or red coat wherever he goes. The day after my briefing I met him in his favourite cafe, sitting at a table near the back and about five steps away from the nearest exit. He's a bit frightening like that.

 

I sit in front of him, he regards me with skepticism and curiousity with his large, brown eyes. At this distance they were quite enthralling. I gave him my hand. "Sawamura."

 

"Tsukishima."

 

"Do you often hang around here?" It's a nice cafe. They make a mean capuccino. Tsukishima was drinking an espresso from a small cup with a dollop of vanilla ice cream. "I didn't take you to be a desserts guy."

 

"What did you take me for, Sawamura?"

 

"Ah - I meant that, it just seems like you're a bit too serious for sweets."

 

"I see." If he was offended, he didn't show. Actually it's a bit hard to find out how he felt about anything at all, his face was too placid and his movements so careful and measured that to the untrained eye, it'd look like he was superbly unimpressed at our current state of small talk. But the signs are there: the slight glances, the tilt of the head, the slight curve of his lips when he feels like laughing or was amused at something. Tsukishima was a puzzle, jagged edges revealing nothing but how much he doesn't want to be approached, the lines of his face only showing what he wants to show. Right in the beginning it was apparent that he exercised control - over himself, over the surroundings if he can help it.

 

I lean back on my chair and think, _that must be so exhausting._ "I'm sorry for your loss."

 

Still and silent, like a stone.

 

"I - didn't know him. but I'll do my best - "

 

Sharply: "you shouldn't compare yourself to him."

 

I can't tell if I've touched a nerve. I probably have. Tsukishima revels in the vague, controls the means and the flow of the general flow of things. Side-stepping is his specialty. A direct attack would force him to bare his teeth. It's a cheap trick, but I'm not just here to get to know him, I'm here because I'm to be his partner and if we're going to be working I have to know who I'm working with, _what_ I have to work with. Cautiously, I reply with, "I don't intend to. This is just what people do when someone dies, Tsukishima - they offer their condolences."

 

"... thank you."

 

That's gotta be the stiffest 'thank you' I've ever received. I smiled.

 

"Do you drink?"

 

"Why?"

 

"There's a nice club near my place. They play jazz sometimes. They brew their own beer. Is Friday alright?"

 

He takes a drink from his cup. Sets it aside. Eats the ice cream after. 

 

"Friday's alright."

 

+++

 

I find out that Tsukishima's been drinking a lot more than usual. This after I told Saeko, who told me not to give him anything beyond three or four glasses, because otherwise he's a mean-tempered drunk. He didn't use to be that way, but grief does funny things to people, sometimes it exhausts them to their bare bones and leaves them with nothing but the hole of a person who used to be there and sometimes it burns them up, lights up their hearts like roman candles until they were nothing but ash. Tsukishima was the latter. He drank with a furious need to forget, without the depth and experience needed to saddle his grief. As lovely as the pub and the jazz band had been that Friday night, we ended up walking - or staggering - through the parking lot with his fists clenched tightly, as if he were on the verge of making the decision to snap someone's neck.

 

I stuff him at the backseat while I drive. The radio's playing something low, something easy. In the dark, Tsukishima murmurs, "I told him to hurry up."

 

"- sorry?"

 

"Kuroo. I told him to hurry up."

 

So that was his name. "I think people can only run so much before they have to stop and rest, Tsukishima."

 

"That's my job."

 

"- how is it your job?"

 

It's a struggle for him to talk, he's way too drunk, but he's also lost, and in his haze he murmurs, "Rule number one, Sawamura. It's my job to know the timing of your fall. Left or right. Go or run. Until then - you shouldn't stop unless I tell you it's safe to do so."

 

I never really viewed his job like that. It takes a very specific kind of tragedy to view it as such. It's such a clichee, but sometimes, racing against the clock is a very big part of our job.

 

He sighs. When I glanced at him at the backseat he's got his eyes closed and a hand over his face.

 

"From now on, you're Galahad. And I'm sorry you're with me."

 

"We haven't even started, Tsukishima."

 

"That's not what I meant."

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

I think, rather unfortunately, that Tsukishima had been in love.

 

 

**(ii.)**

 

The god's hand:

 

Merlin tells me that our target, the so-called prophet, had sent a message: a line of code which, once cracked (i can't pretend I understand what Merlin does), spells the first letter of the name of god. Christian, I think, in line with the target's religious beliefs. A long time ago, he was a pastor, and now he was a murderer with a religious bent and fire-and-brimstone dreams to carry him from place to place. He was a vengeful ghost. Motivation is still a mystery, but Saeko and Merlin were working on that one round the clock.

 

We're to go to the place where he said that the name of god will appear. It's a .... really ridiculous case. My distaste must've shown in my face, because Merlin looked at me and said, "you don't look too happy, Galahad."

 

"It's just - I'm not the biggest fan of this guy," I muttered. "Who does crap like this?"

 

Merlin smiles. "There was a French philosopher, once, who spoke of violence as a way of rupturing reality and ascending into a place where there was no higher pleasure other than to inflict, and be burdened, with the sharpest of emotions."

 

"That's ridiculous. Who would want that?"

 

"Masochists. Or - "

 

We descend further down the tunnel. The metal and stonework around us make the temperature a lot colder, even if I'm wearing layers underneath my suit, and Merlin pushes his glasses over the bridge of his nose and smiles quietly amidst the screaming and groaning of the metallic elevator.

 

I almost missed it when he murmurs, "lovers."

 

+++

 

My weapons of choice are a gun and an umbrella. Guns are self-explanatory. Umbrellas are useful, the ones a Kingsman uses even so. His hands were only slightly shaking when he hands me the umbrella, and I take them into my hands quietly, tests the heft and the length, and then asks him, "what did he use?"

 

He gives me a look. Like he's just been struck. I don't take my eyes off of him. He turns away, and then points at the shelves. "Poison, when there's too many people. Knives, he was a master at them. His fingers were always so elegant. Umbrella. For explosions, a grenade or two. Guns, when the situation calls for it. But he preferred knives."

 

"He must've been pretty skilled." Knives, in this day and age. It has a bit of a romantic flair to it, old-school style kind of fighting, that personal vs. professional vibe. Galahad only nods, but there's an exasperated look on his face.

 

"Knives aren't practical anymore given what other people have developed and what guns can do. At least you're a lot smarter than him by a mile where that's concerned."

 

"Eh, Merlin. Personal habits are a bit hard to break."

 

"If they can kill you, you should probably try a bit harder."

 

He moves to fix my tie, and then frowns. "We'll get you a bow tie."

 

"I thought neck ties are the fashion?"

 

And then - in a quick movement - he winds his hand around my tie, drawing it out of my suit, stomps my knee and kicks my leg down and then slams an elbow to my face. All in one breath. I'm left kneeling on the floor not knowing whether or not I should tend to my knee or my face first.

 

Softly, but triumphantly, he tells me, " _that_ is why you're going to be wearing a bow tie."

 

"Point taken," I gasp, but everything still hurts like hell. When he didn't reply, I glance up to him and ask, "something wrong?"

 

".... you're too slow," he murmurs. "A year or two ago that would've caused me to land on my back with a knife on my throat."

 

"I thought you said we shouldn't play the comparison game."

 

He looks guilty when he replies, "I'm sorry."

 

I say nothing. Just stand, and then grip his shoulder as we walk out of the armory.

 

Feeling utterly stupid, I tell him, "it's okay to be sad." 

 

We didn't talk much after that.

 

+++

 

The location was a school, 1700, old gymnasium east of Miyagi. I get a good look at the character written at one of their walls for Merlin. There's nobody here, as far as I can tell, but it's early. Anything is possible. 

 

"Thermal scans are showing nothing," Merlin tells me in my ear. "You should move."

 

I move, remembering what Tsukishima said about rule number one. I check the lockers. The girl's bathroom was locked. I try the boy's bathroom. 

 

"Merlin, it's open. I'm going in."

 

"Understood."

 

It's quiet. Eerily so. There's nothing in here, but - 

 

\- a line of blood. five points, possibly a hand, dragged through the wall of lockers until it stopped at the far corner. And then at the end of it, a young boy. Burnt beyond recognition. I almost threw my glasses away, remembering what had happened to Galahad, but Merlin stills me when he says, "I am not so weak that I'd cry over a burnt corpse, Galahad."

 

Steel in his voice. Grounding me to earth. I give a shaky laugh. "I'm sorry."

 

"You should do what you're asked to do."

 

Body's dead, so - secure the area. Row 1 of lockers, nothing there. Lockers empty. Row 2, nothing there. Third row - a locker open. I take out my gun. 

 

Nothing. 

 

A note on the floor? - no. A photograph. A boy. Possibly the same boy laughing, on a swing set. I put it in my pocket for later.

 

Attempt to tag the body. Bring back teeth. Merlin notifies the proper authorities, introduces himself to the team leads who will channel the proper resources to the right people. This was our case, not theirs, but we need people to do grunt work while we move on. The boy couldn't have been older than ten. 

 

Another sweep of the school. Nothing there. A few interviews. The boy was a good student. A bit quiet, but very athletic, his friends looked up to him. Adopted. His original parents - drug addicts from the outskirts of the city. Actual parents - 

 

The target, and his dead wife.

 

"Do you have children, Merlin?" I ask him going home, speaker phone propped against the dash, navigating through the traffic with a slight headache.

 

Merlin laughs. It sounds like he's been drinking again. "no."

 

"Do you want to have children?"

 

"It's not really my thing."

 

"Oh. I think I'd like to have some."

 

"While being a Kingsman?"

 

I laugh. "Is that too ambitious?"

 

"No. But it _is_ asking for trouble."

 

"I guess so. But some people might say it's worth it. Some people might say staking your life for ... I don't know, religion, or children, or love, is worth it."

 

There's a slight pause at the other end of the line. The sound of liquid being poured to a glass.

 

"Those people are fools."

 

There's no heat behind his voice, which means - "you don't really believe that."

 

He takes a drink. I take the next exit, go down the highway to the other end of the city, city lights flashing through my window in the dark. At the next stoplight, there's a couple making out beside me.

 

I'm alone in my own car.

 

"Merlin - Tsukishima. Are you free tonight?"

 

"I actually have work."

 

"You're well on your way to being drunk."

 

"That's besides the point."

 

I grip my steering wheel hard. "I'm alone in my apartment. Could use the company."

 

".... are you asking me if - "

 

"And you know how good of a company your self makes when you're alone and miserable."

 

More silence. Static. And then, a sigh - "I'll be there in half an hour."

 

+++

 

Sex with Tsukishima was quiet, desperate, and frantic. He dug his nails to my back and marked every inch of my shoulder. He refused to initiate kissing, forbade me to mark his neck. I complied. 

 

Once, or twice, he called me by the wrong name.

 

In the morning, he leaves without so much as a trace and a note, like he was never there at all, fleeing from the rays of the sun.

 

+++

 

**TO:** [Lancelot]  
**FROM:** [Galahad]

I'm a bit jealous of a dead man.

**FROM:** [Lancelot]  
**TO:** [Galahad]

You should run.

 

 

**(iii.)**

 

A week after the case of the dead child, the second letter of the name was revealed to be in a library north of the city. It's a small library on the edge of closing, run down and tired-looking. Its membership has only declined during the years, and in its death the target has chosen the romance section to be where his next sacrifice - victim - will be. 

 

Merlin leans back on his seat, closing his eyes briefly as he exhales. I take his glasses from him. At this distance his eyes are large and intense, blonde lashes framing them beautifully in the light. At the background: the blurred outline of the code Merlin had been working on for hours to unlock. 

 

I place my hands over the side of his cheeks and lean down to kiss him, and - 

 

It lasts in the space of a breath and he pulls away from me after, setting his glasses on his face as he gets back to work.

 

"Rule number two, Galahad," he speaks with a voice more stable than mine, one that doesn't feel like it's been dragged through coal, the hell of knowing you're always second to someone who has far outpaced you long ago - "anything can be a weapon, including your name."

 

+++

 

Saeko asks me how work's been. I tell her it's fine. I tell her it's really difficult to get along with him because he doesn't give me much to work with outside of our actual work and we're kind of at odds with the whole Galahad thing, but other than that, we've been professional in everything else. When we work we work. When he's happy he's sort of happy. But when he's a wreck, god, is he a wreck.

 

I don't blame him. You don't blame the grieving for their loss. my problem is -

 

"Oh, pretty hard to compete with a dead guy."

 

"Don't remind me." I sigh. I sink into my chair, hands cradling a cooling mug of capuccino in that cafe he likes so much, in the same space. In a little over a month, I've been thinking of touching his face and kissing him but it must've just felt to him like an echo, or a ghost, moving over his body, the way the cold settles after the storm. "Can you help me ...?"

 

Saeko scoffs at me. "How. If you're stuck with Tsukishima that means you're stuck with his pace, and he'll be dragging you down his dreck faster than I can say 'I told you so.' I asked you to take care of him, not act as a second husband. That's no way to live, Daichi."

 

We settle into a familiar silence, after a while, and then Saeko lights a cigarette, leaning back on her chair, the smoke rising from her fingers around her.

 

"I hear Cuba is nice this time of the year. You should consider it."

 

+++

 

I visit his apartment sometimes. We were both lonely people. My family's in another province, and Tsukishima's family has been relocated to another city as well, apparently to Tokyo or somewhere near it. His brother's promotion allows them to afford more things in their life, but that promotion was a combination of skills as well as a well-placed word here and there, courtesy of Merlin. His apartment has barely anything in it: a table, two chairs, at least the fridge has some food in it other than beer. A couch, a coffee table, a television. In the bedroom: a mattress. An elaborate set up of a computer with about three high-def screens, probably the most expensive thing in the apartment. A shelf jammed with books, two dinosaur figurines on top. Built-in wardrobe with a pallette of neutrals, grays, blacks.

 

The only sign of life: a splash of red in the most innocuous of places, red jackets too big for him jammed in the couch, draped over a chair, on a pillow.

 

Tsukishima leans against the window to light up a cigarette, but he doesn't smoke, lets the smoke waft through the room as it burns on an ash tray. There's enough butts on the tray for me to know he does this all the time. Kind of like incense. 

 

I pop open a can of beer and lie down the couch. In the dark, I ask him - "how did you guys meet?"

 

He's wearing one of those oversized red jackets, the name of a high school printed at the back in block letters, NEKOMA, and it hangs loosely over his legs, long and pale. His boxers were black, his tank top black. It makes him look pale in the dim light. I don't know why we never bothered to turn on the lights when we stumbled into it, but it suits us just fine.

 

He leans against the window, sits on the window sill. Crosses his legs, long and beautiful and pale, and it hurts to look at him, much more to hear him talk.

 

"First mission was to infiltrate the house of this politician dabbling with the same set of problems that the branch in England had been. He flirted his way through to get to the host." He shakes his head. swirls the can in his hands, a faint smile on his face. "Ridiculous. But charming. I hated him. He was too full of himself."

 

"And then?"

 

"Second mission was .... a joint mission with the Taiwanese branch. Terrorists in the harbor. I lost track of time, he was injured during that fight. He apologized," The grip on his can tightens, showing the whites of his knuckles. "When I was the one who could've killed him.

 

We went out after that. Drunk and just - stupid. in the beach, or in bars. Woke up next to him a lot more often than necessary. Every morning, he told me I had beautiful eyes. And every morning, I told him to fuck off. He laughed all the time.

 

Third mission was somewhere in the Andes. He kissed me in the dark. Full moon. Nothing but stars in between. He taught me how to shoot a gun. Taught me how to kill with a steady hand." He takes a drink. "I learned how to dance from him, too."

 

"Can't picture you dancing."

 

"I'm not the most graceful. But that's the thing with Kuroo. You're either in his orbit, or not, and if not, he pulls you towards him and sinks his claws in your throat."

 

The cigarette continues to burn. 

 

"Fourth mission was the labyrinth."

 

His face wasn't happy anymore, just .... exasperated. Not even sad or anything, he must've had all the time in the world to be sad and tired, and now that he's paid his price, forty days of nothing but swallowing tears, he burns with the incandescent rage of someone who's had something important taken away from him. Like death was nothing but a minor inconvenience to someone who decides where you should fall and where you should turn. 

 

"That's, what, almost a year?"

 

"Almost a year," he nods. He looks away. "He told me to save a spot on my card."

 

"On your card?"

 

"For a dance."

 

"I don't get it."

 

"In the old days, a woman would have a list of the gentlemen she intends to dance with in successive dances at a ball in an elaborate card. A _tanzkarte._ "

 

Twist the knife further.

 

I finish my beer and set it aside, and I walk towards him. He looks at me, his face quiet, curious, and then - a touch of fear as I take his beer to set it aside, and then take his hand, put his other hand around my waist, and - 

 

I kiss him.

 

For the first time, he kisses me back.

 

Thumb tracing his hand as we swayed back and forth, I lean my head onto his chest and breathe his scent in, cigarettes and beer and that damned jacket all in all. When I kiss him I kiss with the ferocity of a man intending to write his name into his mouth.

 

That night, he called me by my name.

 

It's a small victory, even in the face of such an oppressive ghost, but it'll have to do.

 

+++

 

Merlin tells me that the library isn't occupied. It's a sunday when we go check it out and there's no-one in it, except the caretaker who's already being interrogated by Lancelot. 

 

The body was burnt again. This time of a small girl, her features almost visible. The act was rushed. Apparently he wasn't counting on the caretaker to come today, and so she had died of stab wounds instead, slowly bleeding while she was burning. The caretaker's inconsolable, and Lancelot was sympathetic but relentless.

 

The girl was friends of the boy we had found. She'd never stepped foot in this library in her life, her house was too far from here. They were neighbours. The library will have to close. 

 

In her hands she held a book about flowers and gardening. I flip its pages. The death weighs heavily in my mind.

 

"How many letters are left?"

 

"Two."

 

"We're looking for two more deaths? Why aren't we catching up to him, Merlin?"

 

"We're looking for three."

 

I frown. "But there are only two more names. Are you counting the target?"

 

"Possibly."

 

"Merlin - "

 

"Patience, Galahad."

 

"People are dying, Merlin."

 

"And you think I don't know that?" But there's no bite to his words. I've been unfair, I know. Merlin's working as hard as he can, same with Lancelot, same with Saeko. I'm being impatient because I can't move unless I know more, unless I have directions. Merlin's the brain, he has to tell me where to go, what to do next, and staying put isn't telling me anything. "Rule number three, Galahad. 'In nature's infinite book of secrecy, a little can I read.'"

 

More of your rules, I thought. I'm wondering if this is as much for me as it had been for him when he was alive. "Where's that from?"

 

" _Antony and Cleopatra_. Get yourself back to HQ, and leave the rest to Lancelot in this area. You're going to talk to a widow."

 

 

+++

 

Murder in downtown, one of the seedier pubs. I fail to see the connection to the case, it doesn't seem like it's connected at all, but Merlin insisted. This was off the grid, so I have to walk in, make the interrogation, walk out before the police come. I was to interrogate someone who was a witness to a murder.

 

Sawada was a man in his forties who looked like he had been handsome, once, but time and personal problems have put such a stress on him that he was now a wisp of a man with a hot temper and a wounded pride. The man who was killed was another drunkard, but a man who had been at a better stage in his life than Sawada: he was the owner of a shoe shop who suddenly closed, no idea as to why, he's always been a little crazy since the wife left. 

 

When did the wife leave, do you know?

 

Couple of years ago. Man, who cares? This is an old story that you're paying for.

 

I'm a friend of a friend who knows the guy, that's all. I just wanted to know what you saw.

 

Ain't much to tell. He got an argument with someone over the phone. Didn't hear it much, pub's too loud for that kind of shit. 

 

What did you hear?

 

Man, I don't remember, I was arguing with my girl. Can you believe that bitch. She told me she'd had enough. After all these years, man, we were together for ten years. No kids, but I thought working hard and being optimistic was enough.

 

Sawada. I need an answer.

 

God, you're pushy. I don't know. I don't remember. I might've been drunk too. I think that's why she left. I think I love her. 

 

Sawada.

 

God, you're pushy .... I think .... it was about an appointment.

 

What kind?

 

Uh, I don't know. A date with someone. He yelled at the phone, 'you told me to come here.' He kept making noises - waaw??? Woww!! Something like that. Guess he was being sarcastic. I was looking at him because he was a schmuck on the same side of the road as I was, I was facing a woman who wanted to leave but I don't want her to. And I don't know how to make her stay. You ever been in that place?

 

I can't really say.

 

Man, you're lucky. You're really lucky. Anyway I tell her I still love her, I'll work harder, but work hasn't been good, they know I drink too much. I get mean when I'm drunk. It wasn't like that before. I tell her I love her, and she tells me she loves me but _sometimes_ , what does that mean?

 

Maybe it's better if she walks away, Sawada.

 

God, don't tell me. God, why am I in love with this woman?

 

Anything else you noticed about this man?

 

He's got nice shoes. I don't know him. I went out for a smoke after, thinking I'm fucked. I missed the last payment on the mortgage. She's gonna take the dogs and live with her mum for a while but she's a hard worker and I love her.

 

And then?

 

And then he goes off to his car to yell at something and I heard him fall.

 

You didn't help him?

 

Fuck, no. You ever seen the people around these places? People fall all the time. This place is a hole for people like us to fall into.

 

What happened to your wife?

 

She left me. She left me, man. I'm pathetic. I feel sorry for myself. I want to be in love. Not just to love someone but to be in love. You know what I mean? 

 

I left the pub, whispering, yes, yes, yes.

 

+++

 

Tsukishima isn't sleeping tonight. He's running over surveillance cameras of over ten murders regarding the target, studying his methods of killing, studying his movements. I'm lying on his bed tracing his spine as he hunches over his computer, headphones blocking the world and his glasses reflecting the brutality on the screen. He doesn't flinch, he doesn't look away. Even as I press a kiss onto the base of his neck, where the spine starts, he doesn't move. It was another gesture in a sea of movements that were repeated continuously in one time frame. Some days Saeko told me that he doesn't view time in a straight line, just a series of dropped threads where one action is just as valid as the next, causing for repeats, like a man kissing his the top of his spine while he's working late and holding his hand. This was nothing but another series of actions happening again, and again, and again, with the same name, just a different face this time.

 

I don't know when did he slip back into the bed, but when I woke up that morning he was up already, making coffee in the kitchen in his boxers, his legs attractively peppered with kisses from last night. Last night was a quiet night, he neither called my name or _his_ , he just wanted to be done. For some reason it was more painful than the rest of the other nights when he'd called me with a different face, a different tone, a different everything.

 

It's exhausting.

 

He hands me a mug with coffee, and I mumble my thanks as I stagger into the room, watching him make toast next.

 

"What does he like to do in the mornings?"

 

"... read the newspaper. Eat food. Pin me against the wall, make both of us late for work. He never lets me stay up late."

 

"You stay up late anyway."

 

"I know. I don't expect you to do the same."

 

"That's not exactly true. Even if I did - would you let me?"

 

He stops buttering his toast, turns to me with a cold look on his face. "Let you do what, Daichi?"

 

"Take care of things."

 

"Of what?"

 

"You."

 

Silence.

 

I grip the handle of the mug so hard it hurts. Maybe I'm tired of being played like a dead bird in the grips of a vicious cat. Maybe I'm tired of being burnt. Maybe I'm tired of having my body pulled apart every time like a slab of meat to a hungry crow.

 

"Will you let me?" I press again. "Will you - "

 

"Your coffee's getting cold, Sawamura."

 

He should've slapped me instead. I would've been justified in my frustrations, and would've walked away with anger in my bones.

 

As it stands, I grab my keys from the counter after finishing my coffee and, half-angry, and half terribly in love with him, I grab the back of his hand and kiss it, and go.

 

I don't know what his face had been when I left, but I really hope it wasn't anywhere close to pity.

 

\- or even worse, that horrible feeling of affection you get for bitter things. That kind of seed that drives a wedge in your veins until it grows into something approximating love, or whatever's more insulting. 

 

Like mercy.

 

 

**(iv.)**

 

Saeko comes down with a horrible stomach flu, so I visit her that weekend. She looks at me sharply and sighs. 

 

"You look like you're in bigger shit than I am."

 

"You're not wrong."

 

I bring her her favourite chicken soup, and I sat beside her bed listening to her moan about how horrible her week's begun and how she'll never eat anything her brother cooks for her, ever, and I laugh for what feels like an infinity since I last did it without being drunk or asking someone else if they're free for the night. After a while, she tells me, "Tsukishima's looking like he's on a warpath lately."

 

"I sort of provoked him."

 

"Like how?"

 

"I've been asking things about - Kuroo."

 

Saeko looks at me like I've gone mad. "I'm assuming it's not just because he was good at his job. Did you honestly think - "

 

"No, Saeko. I don't know what to think and I'm fucked."

 

"God."

 

+++

 

Lancelot doesn't talk much, on the whole. Not because he's shy, only that he doesn't want to. In his younger years, he was a skilled volleyball player, or so the rumours go. It's a bit difficult to trust that in this place because every Kingsman has their own secrets, and you can never tell which personal ones are the ones a Kingsman will kill you over. 

 

He gives me the forensic report on both bodies, tells me they're still working on the one that Merlin made me do off the mission - on a case like this which has an unofficial deadline, normally any deviation from the investigation would be met with a demerit, but Merlin has made the case that it can be connected, so it stays. What the connection was, I'm not sure yet, I haven't received that briefing yet. All I know is that the government wants to rush this case because people have been asking while it's in the middle of balancing another crisis in the national and the international stage. A Kingsman never asks for fame or recognition but sometimes a pat on the back goes a long way, and the government is giving us the middle finger. I read this memo with a sigh and then rub the back of my neck, trying to calm the tense muscles there.

 

Lancelot tells me, "it's too bad you're so dependable."

 

"Why is that a problem?"

 

He tilts his head, watching me with those too-sharp eyes. "Because that means you're almost like him, but you're not, and that complicates things between the two of you."

 

I sigh. I rest my head on the table, my fingers drumming on the wooden surface. Lancelot edges beside the table. "There's another solution, you know."

 

"And what's that?"

 

Lancelot shrugs. "Well .... you can always walk away."

 

I stare at him. Walk away. As if I haven't tried. As if I can do that now, when I've memorized the shape of his face, the feel of his legs underneath my hands, his laugh, have noted the shape of his mouth in his anger, in his desperation, have heard his voice calling me by the wrong name, calling me by the right name.

 

"It's just a thought," Lancelot says, but he looks like he's talking to a wounded dog and walks away after, before he uncovers even more bruises with his words.

 

+++

 

The last name has been revealed. it was whispered in the house of a woman living alone in her fifties with two cats. Her name was Ahiru, and at the moment her relation to the target was unknown. but - 

 

"Revealed, you say. Not like - this wasn't sent to you."

 

"No, it's not. We're being ahead of him." Merlin looked like he hasn't slept for ages, but his eyes were bright and he's smiling, actually smiling and it's pathetic but it floods me with emotional relief, like I can be so happy right where he's victorious and happy too. He must've known I felt like that, must've seen it in my face how fond I was as he glanced to me, momentarily confused by the sincerity in my words when I said, "you're amazing, Tsukki."

 

".... why did you call me that?"

 

"Uh. Sorry. Merlin."

 

"No, but - "

 

"It's been a long day, I just - thought I'd shorten your name. Nothing to it, really."

 

"Nothing to it." He repeats, dumbfounded. Like I'd broken his streak on something, a quiet reality shattered by a misspelled name. I swear I didn't have any ulterior motives, or any bitterness when I gave him the nickname, it's easy enough to assume given his name anyway. What's going on?

 

He's quiet after that, and then adds, "I'll give you the location later on, Galahad." 

 

And then I understood why - the way he said my name, _Galahad_ , like it had been borrowed from someone else, that soft sigh on the last syllable, and I think, how stupid of me. God.

 

I never called him by that name again.

 

(but sometimes - 

 

_sometimes_ \- )

 

+++

 

Miss Ahiru's house was a lovely, small beige house in the suburbs south of the city. She'd only moved into it after a year or so. She works as a supervisor for a factory that dyes fabrics in the outskirts. She goes to work by bike, and leaves early in the morning and comes home late at night. Her pantry was mostly stocked with instant food. She doesn't cook, she has no time and is probably too tired whenever she comes home. She has two cats, a calico one and a black one. The calico one was friendly. 

 

The black one followed me everywhere and watched me move from room to room with its grey eyes. "It's so creepy," I hissed. 

 

"It's just a cat, Galahad." 

 

"You're not the one being followed by a cat everywhere you go - oh look, here he is."

 

"Sorry?"

 

"The cat, again. He's followed me to the bathroom."

 

Merlin sighs. "Just secure the area, Galahad."

 

Which I did. Living room clear. Kitchen clear. Bathroom clear. Bedrooms, cleared. Basement - 

 

"Thermal scans are picking up - "

 

"I know. I'm going in."

 

"Be careful."

 

The cat hissed.

 

So he might've been good for something, I thought. There in the window was the prophet. He had come with a bag and a small gallon of gasoline, possibly remembering his resolve when he had been interrupted with the murder of the girl, come to finish the names once and for all. He moves one foot into the small basement window, and another, the light from the street lamp illuminating his balding head, his slightly hunched form as he slips into the basement. 

 

I lock the door. I turn on the lights.

 

He shakes. His eyes widen as he sees me in my suit, the glasses, the umbrella - 

 

"This stops here," I tell him. I lunge for him, and he moves back, and draws a gun. Upstairs, someone - or something - has dropped what sounded like a pot, or a pan, and then, Merlin speaks - "ignore the noises from overhead - Miss Ahiru's come home and Lancelot will deal with her."

 

"Get her out of here!"

 

"We're doing what we can. Secure the target."

 

Bullets fly. The prophet is whispering as he moves through the basement, far into the laundry room, into the - 

 

"Central heating. Galahad - "

 

"I know! I've almost got him - "

 

The cat leaps ahead. Moves to the rooms far below the basement and I follow.

 

I can't use the umbrella in closed quarters, especially when the bullets are bound to hit the heater and the cooling system while the prophet was carrying gas in a gallon, of all things, and when I catch up to him - 

 

he stands in front of the heater pouring the gas onto himself.

 

"Fuck -"

 

"Galahad, get out of there!"

 

He lights a match. 

 

The prophet whispers, cupping the flame in his burning hand, "the problem with being in love, you see, is that the body can no longer believe in itself but must rely on someone else."

 

I grab the cat and my umbrella, and run.

 

+++

 

Third degree burns on the right side of my body. A couple of stitches where the debris from the house had hit me and where the explosion threw me off to its foundations. Miss Ahiru and Lancelot were minorly hurt, but were alive. As an aside, Saeko tells me that the cat survived, it's just that nobody knows where it went.

 

"Good," I mumble from underneath my bandages. "I never liked that cat, it was creepy."

 

"I think it's cute that it followed you everywhere! Must've had a connection."

 

I sigh. Saeko feeds me gummy bears, gently, her fingers careful not to press too hard on my bandages or my stitches. She's a saint. She still has a bit of the stomach flu but she doesn't want to stay at bed when I'm here, though she made a promise not to puke on me if ever she feels the need to.

 

I feel pathetic when I asked, "was - Tsukishima - here?"

 

She sighs.

 

"Early in the morning with the director. He left as soon as the doctor said you'll live."

 

I don't know what I was expecting.

 

"You .... really could do with someone better, you know."

 

"Yeah. I know." It hurts still. But somehow it's that dull ache, kind of like the pain after the limb has been severed, the stubborn ache of healing, not the jagged edges kind of hurt where nothing makes sense and everything was painful because the cause was from something else, someone else. It's a hurt I understand because it's coming from me. Not from a ghost. Not from someone else I fell in love with.

 

I eat the last bit of gummy bears. "Explain the case to me."

 

"It's done. Merlin submitted the report, but he'll come over here to tell you the last bit. It's interesting, really, but I think I can deal with not having a case like that again for a while. Religious psychos scare me, man."

 

"Tell me about it."

 

"You gonna be fine?"

 

I close my eyes. "Yeah, I think I will be."

 

Tsukishima comes in the evening. I wake up to the sight of him reading the newspaper beside my bed, mouth slowly moving as he reads over the words, red jacket over his shoulder like a shield. When he realizes I'm awake, he says, "they found your cat."

 

"It's not my cat. I don't know why it followed me."

 

"Well, either way. It didn't burn in the explosion. Miss Ahiru is grateful." He folds the newspaper and sets it aside, motions to the flowers beside me. "These are from her."

 

"Oh, nice. Tell her I said thanks?"

 

He sits beside my bed. Leans across me with an arm propped against the side as he looks over my face, his voice soft and tender, and it's too much. "You can tell her that yourself, when you're well."

 

I smile. 

 

Some days, it really wasn't that bad to be with him. Some days it felt good to wake up beside someone and have them look at you in that way that hits you hard in the chest as they kiss you for the morning or hand you your coffee after a bath with a slight smile on their face, or map the way their hands fit in your own when you dance, or the way their mouth feels after a long session of nothing but questions, _how did he like this_ and _where did you meet_ and so on. Some days it wasn't that bad to bear the brunt of having the wrong face and the wrong name all in all if it meant being able to touch him and feel that that sense of affection was real, relying on a few words like 'thank you' and 'please' to confirm to yourself that this thing probably can work out, ghosts and red jackets aside.

 

I ask him, "tell me about the case."

 

Tsukishima tilts his head to the side, and starts it like this:

 

"There are four letters for our prophet, and four murders. Supposedly four, anyway, starting in the east, where the holy city is supposed to be. But it's more personal than that. Forensics had come through. The boy was an illegitimate child - "

 

"Oh. the guy in the pub!"

 

"Yeah. that was a hunch, I wasn't expecting him to be there at that time, but once I found out, things started to slide quickly into place. The girl was another illegitimate child, this time an affair with our Miss Ahiru. and Miss Ahiru, for obvious reasons, had left him a couple of years back. It was only a matter of the prophet tying strings to his favour and embelleshing them with religious crap in order to fulfill his identity, but the bottom line is that he wanted to erase what he resented. And the thing he resented the most was loneliness."

 

It was already dark by the time he finished talking; I can see the first of the street lamps lighting up out in the streets one by one. Merlin tells me, "you make a good Galahad."

 

I sigh. I think back to Lancelot's message, Saeko's cigarettes, and I tell him, "yeah. But apparently, not good enough for some."

 

He flinches.

 

I smile. I hold his hand. It's cold in my own hand, his fingers elegant as they curve around the edge of my palm.

 

"For what it's worth - I really thought - "

 

"I know," I tell him, smiling. I'm too weary to parse his emotions, the way they flitter over his face and the way he bites his lower lip. The way he pushes the frame of his glasses over the bridge of his nose. He's looking at me but he's not seeing me. I don't dislike him. I've never hated him. But damn, does he make it difficult to love him.

 

_Run._

 

"I think I deserve a vacation."

 

"Go ahead. You've earned it." He gets up on his feet. Pulls the jacket even tighter over him, zips it up, gathers the newspaper underneath his arm. And to think I thought I had a chance.

 

Tsukishima leans down to kiss me on the forehead, his lips cool against my skin, and I close my eyes.

 

"I think Cuba is lovely at this time of the year."

 

 

 

 

 

(end.)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm at [fealle](http://fealle.tumblr.com/) if you want more kurotsukki fics. can't promise they're good, but they'll be there.


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